Page 26 of Man of His Dreams

Which reminded him. “Dinner first?”

“Absolutely.”

At Tony’s suggestion, they went to a nearby Latin American place, which was a good reminder to Flip of how immigration to this city continued, with newcomers adding flavors and sounds to the already dizzying mix. Flip steered the conversation toward Tony’s workday. On the face of it, a couple of meetings and some architectural plans might not have been all that exciting, but Tony’s enthusiasm made them interesting. It was a pleasure to see someone so in love with his job.

After insisting on paying the bill, Flip asked, “Ready to head to my place?”

“I’ve been incredibly patient.”

“You have.”

Miss Amelie had packed up and left. Flip was thankful, although he suspected she knew what was going on. He could picture her smug grin.

“Nice place,” said Tony, looking around the living room.

“I found it online and sort of chose it at random, mostly because it’s on St. Philip Street.” At the time it had seemed like a slightly whimsical thing to do, or at least an easy way to make a quick decision. He hadn’t possessed the patience to wade through many For Rent listings. And the landlord had been willing to do a three-month lease. Now, however, Flip wondered whether it actually had been simple coincidence. Had he lived somewhere else, he wouldn’t have met Miss Amelie or Scratch, and things would have taken a very different trajectory.

“My place is sort of cluttery,” Tony admitted. “I tend to acquire interesting old things. And lots of books.”

“The curse of the historian, I bet. I have a fair number of books too, but they’re in storage in California. I came here with nothing except my suitcase.”

“Which the airline has lost.”

“Actually, they found it. But I gave it away.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “How come?”

“I needed to make room.”

For a moment, Tony seemed puzzled. Then, as Flip had hoped, he realized what Flip meant. “Aunt Amelie. She said….”

“Yeah. Um, that’s sort of part of the larger story I wanted to tell you. And what I’m going to say is sort of a lot. Want to sit down?”

Tony glanced at the couch and then shook his head. “Let’s finish our apartment tour first.”

“I’m not nearly as good a guide as you are, but sure.”

So Tony admired the view from the gallery, and after that the kitchen and hallway took only a moment. That brought them to the bedroom, and Tony halted in his tracks when he saw the bed. “Holy cow. Did that come with the place?”

“Yeah.”

“The Bergeron-Catanzaro House originally had one very like it—there’s a painting—but it was lost somewhere over the years.” He wandered over to peer more closely and stroke the wooden carvings. Which proved unexpectedly erotic, even though Tony probably hadn’t intended it that way. Flip had to look away.

When he turned back, Tony was sitting on the edge of the mattress with an impish smile. His feet dangled due to the bed’s height, giving him a particularly youthful aspect. “I’m experiencing bed envy. All I have is a plain one from Ikea.”

“This one isn’t mine, remember. Just a rental.”

It was also as good a place as any to divulge Flip’s secrets, which might feel more plausible here than on the utilitarian couch in the living room.

“So,” Flip began. He felt slightly dizzy. “I’m not sure where to start.”

Tony waited, brows raised.

Time to dive in. Flip managed a weak smile.

“So. I’ve met Scratch Bergeron.”

Tony didn’t run out of the apartment or call 911. Instead he remained very still on the bed, head slightly cocked, eyes wide. “Literally or figuratively met?”